Roots of our Lives
by Vatrel
Summary: This is a fiction based on my webcomic Skies of Ahleris, and it will contain numerous stories about almost all the characters appearing in it. You should be able to understand even if you haven't read the comic. Enjoy!
1. Prologue Remorse and Resolve

Note that I do not live in an English speaking country and I may or may not have some troubles with the language.

This was practically made only on request. There are maybe five people or so reading Skies of Ahleris (a webcomic of mine), and those five are probably the only ones being able to understand a little about what's going on here (at least about the characters and such), but I decided to post it here anyways.

Let me know if you liked it, even though you may not understand.

This is just an introduction to **Roots of our lives**, which I hope will contain more than just the war between Naril and Deliris. Yeah. More of Kreuz, Liifa and the other side characters as well.

**The character called Taricha belongs solely to Maki, a good friend of mine, but she has granted me permission to use her in the series as well as in this fiction.**

**A Skies of Ahleris fiction**

THE ROOTS OF OUR LIVES

**PROLOGUE**  
Remorse and Resolve

Had the sun set but a minute earlier, Cyril might even had been able to close his eyes and relax. But the light was mocking him, and it was too late - for his thoughts, the thoughts Cyril alone knew and would never tell, had started spinning into action again. Regrettably, he let them, as always.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, his right hand resting on his forehead, trying to push away the night's embrace. As always, futile. He didn't welcome it, but darkness would always reside in him.

As Cyril was the prince of Ahleris and therefore the whole world, he had many important things to uphold, though he would never lose his character. He was known as the kind, charming prince who ruled the world strictly but fairly. But behind closed doors, he would look himself in the mirrow and despise what he saw. Yes, prince Cyril of Ahleris held utter contempt for all that he was. But no one really knew why, and he would refuse to share those thoughts with anyone. Some would call him strong. Some would call him weak. Some would notice those eyes, and that same darkness residing in them. But none would ask, for a reply would never be given them.

Cyril's bright, green eyes opened at the sound of someone knocking on his door, letting him flee from his thoughts.

"... It's open", Cyril said after a short pause.

Silence. Whoever was on the other side of the door hesitated. Cyril smiled lightly, warmth returning to his eyes.

"Don't worry, Kreuz, I'm decent."

"Oh, I'm _not_ worrying, Your Highness!!" the other person exclaimed while entering. As always, his temper was unpredictable.

Cyril held back a laughter. He knew about his friend's short fuse since way back.

"Forgive me, Kreuz", said Cyril, not an ounce of guilt in that smile.

Kreuz rolled his eyes and sighed slightly. After a long, hard day of work, he was exhausted.

"... Well, I'm sorry for disturbing you, Your Highness."

"Oh, no no, please", Cyril said while raising one of his hands. "Tell me, what's so important at this hour?"

Kreuz' eyes strayed a little from the prince as he tried to figure out a way to phrase what he had come to say in the first place.

"I... I'm sorry, Sire... Could you come with me for a minute?"

Cyril didn't see any harm in doing so, but Kreuz' obvious anxiety that rarely was even shown on other occasions made the prince slightly shaken up. Without a word, he stood up and followed his friend down the quiet hall, Kreuz' anxiety rubbing off on him.

As the two of them entered the chambers where wounder were being tended to, Cyril was struck by an unpleasant sight. On the sheets closest to them layed a severely wounded man, none other than the messenger who had been sent to inform Naril, the dark dragon clan, of clan Deliris' wish to form an alliance. Apparently, this was how the offer had been met.

Rage filled the sorrowful prince. He turned around and faced Kreuz, in his concern oblivious of how much he raised his voice.

"Who is responsible for this? Why was I not informed until now!?"

Kreuz didn't as much as flinch at his reaction. He sighed with a bitter expression on his face, with a bit of regret in his amethyst eyes.

"I apologize... I thought it best to... tend to the wounded as quickly as possible, Majesty..."

Cyril sighed too, rubbing his temple with his fingers. This was indeed utterly tiresome.

"... Of course you did, my friend. That was the most important choice. You did the right thing."

"Thank you, Sire."

Cyril quitely removed some of his emanating, white hair from his face, yet another sigh following. Kreuz watched him with friendly concern.

"... What will you do, Sire?"

"I dare not send another messenger. I will wait for Naril's intentions, if this is their response." Cyril slightly gestured towards the injured messenger. "If you would, Kreuz, tighten security and keep the palace staff on alert. Just bare in mind that the non-involved must not know of the circumstances until Naril's intentions are clear."

"I hear and obey, Sire."

"I'm counting on you."

Cyril smiled, the smile only reaching his eyes because he had a gift of pretending his feeling alright. As a leader of millions and billions of people, it sure came in handy when other people were feeling hopeless.

"... Will you go back to your chambers now, Your Highness?" Kreuz asked.

"I'll... be out in the garden for a while. I need some time to... not think", said Cyril with a gentle laugh.

Kreuz felt more relieved to hear that. It was seldom good to leave the prince to his thoughts for too long.

"Just don't fall asleep out there."

"Don't mind if I do", Cyril said, more to himself, while heading out.

The palace garden always felt so serene and calming at night. Sounds from many different animals usually prevented Cyril from doing much other than to listen quietly. But as he sat down in the grass under one of the cherry trees, the thought came crawling back to him.

The clan leader of Naril had been a good friend of Cyril's a long time ago. He couldn't mean to agitate the most powerful clan in Ahleris, where the leader of the whole world ruled? He couldn't be so foolish as to provoke the silver dragon people when peace was so close, sacrificing his own men?

The thoughts kept running, on and on and...

_If there is war, innocent lives will be lost._

Nevermind that. Lives in general will be lost.

If there is war, I must go for the head of my best friend.

I might not be able to protect those I love.

If there is victory on our side, I will have to lay siege to other people's homeland.

If there is loss on our side, a person not fit to rule this world might take hold of my position.

Where will Aniki stand? On which side? Will we end up fighting?

Lonesome as it felt, Cyril buried his face in his hands.

"Ahhh... No more... What should I do...? What is the right thing?"

Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder made Cyril sit straight up again, while turning around trying to hide the despair he had just felt. Out from the ivies came Taricha, a most trusted friend of his, whom he had known since his early childhood. He let out a sigh of relief when seeing her face.

"... You surprised me", Cyril told her with a slight smile.

Taricha sat down next to him. They were both quiet for awhile, when finally Taricha uttered:

"... Whatever's the matter, you probably won't tell me, right?"

Cyril laughed, and added a sad smile to that.

"I'm sorry, no. Everything's fine now."

Taricha fiddled a little with her wavy, blueish, short hair while watching her friend in his thoughts. Taricha's face was scarred, but the was a beautiful woman - and a very good friend. But Cyril wouldn't even tell her what was going on.

"Now that I'm here, you mean?" she asked him with a teasing smile.

"Now now, that's overreacting a bit, don't you think?"

"What?"

They both laughed a little, and then the moment of silence returned.

"... Listen", Taricha said. "I don't know what's the right thing to do either, sometimes. But..." She smiled and put one hand on Cyril's shoulder. "I know that whatever you do, it'll be the right thing."

Cyril silently watched her. His expression didn't change, and it was impossible to figure out what he was thinking.

"... I know it!" Taricha added confidently. "And besides, whatever happens, we'll be here for you."

Cyril smiled, this time with warmth.

"Thank you..."

And just then, a thought crossed his mind in an instant.

_In order to protect my loved ones... this warmth... I will do absolutely anything. Even kill a thousand men in cold blood if I so must._

**END OF PROLOGUE - REMORSE AND RESOLVE**

**--**

Please be constructive in your reviews.

To see some art of the characters, give me a shout.


	2. Embracing and Gazing

**A Skies of Ahleris fiction**

Continuation from PROLOGUE - Remorse and Resolve

**ONE - Embracing and gazing**

_Strength._

I do not even have to ask for such a thing. As long as I know that I possess it. Though I may not appreciate or respect myself, my strength will be carried proudly in order to protect. And this body... will be my vessel for it. This strength.

"Cyril? Are you listening?"

Cyril almost fell off his chair in surprise. He looked around himself with confused eyes, as if he had just woken up. When he saw his good friend and personal spy, Liifa, stand in front of him with a kind smile, Cyril lowered his shoulders and relaxed again. Apparently, he had been drifting off. Again. Luckily, Liifa was very patient.

"Are you... alright?" she quietly asked. Liifa had always been a quiet girl, but she easily got concerned for other people's sakes.

Cyril smiled gently.

"Just spacing off, my dear. I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Liifa crossed her arms and smiled.

"Well, at which part did you lose me?"

Cyril blinked in confusion.

"... ... Pardon?"

"I'm guessing you didn't even notice me getting here."

The prince sighed slightly, scratching the back of his head. Lately, this had happened quite often, and it made Cyril feel slightly embarrassed, and not very dedicated. He usually would care to focus much more.

"Liifa, I'm... really sorry."

"No, that's okay", Liifa quickly replied. "You've been so tired recently, it seems. Is everything alright?"

Cyril brushed away some hair from his face with yet another sigh.

"No, I... I... Really..." His head had started to pound again. As his voice faded away a little while he was talking, Liifa noticed that His Highness definitely needed more rest.

"Cyril, when did you last get any sleep?"

Cyril watched her, completely silent for a while. His expression was so calm, he almost looked dumbfounded. Then he suddenly laughed it off.

"I... don't know?"

Liifa felt a sudden urge to just drag the prince away to his chambers. She shook her head in disbelief and watched Cyril with a worried facial expression.

"Cyril... What exactly is bothering you?"

"Some issues, Liifa. I've been through worse."

"... Alright then."

They were both silent for a while, none of them having any other words in mind to exchange. Cyril stood up after a couple of minutes.

"There are some people I need to have a word with. I'm so sorry, Liifa. For not listening, I mean."

"Don't worry..." she replied, smiling.

The corridors were quiet. Only the faint echo of Cyril's footsteps could be heard throughout the halls. And not because he was alone - but rather because the people around him noticed the tension and decided it was for the best not to disturb the prince. They had no idea what was going on, but they didn't want to know - they didn't need to know. They always trusted that whatever it was, the prince and the other higher-ups would do their best to see to it that civilians would be kept from trouble and harm, like always. They were content.

But Cyril thought the silence was more than unnerving, because he appreciated the neutral lifestyle of the palace staff. He would hear them gossip about this and that, helping each other with their duties, dream about the future... Cyril enjoyed it. It made _him_ content. To make his people worried about him... That was unsettling.

Cyril entered the conference room, where he was met with multiple eyes, staring at him with disrespect hidden somewhere within. Cyril frowned for a second. These gentlemen seemed to be of the kind that would stab one in the back if the profit would be enough. He needed to pay a lot of attention and foucs into this particular discussion.

He turned to Kreuz, who immediately stood up along with the other three men - seeming to be from the Cinnober clan, Merileus - and bowed towards Cyril.

"I apologize for the delay, gentlemen", Cyril said with a calm, charming smile that could be considered cold to some. It was the so called "business smile" of his. It didn't need any warmth.

"There is no need to apologize", Kreuz assured him.

Cyril sat down, and the others followed.

"Am I right in assuming you are nobles from the senate of clan Merileus?"

The man who appeared to be the oldest, and also the spokesperson of the clan leader, rised again with rage in his eyes.

"You are correct in assuming this, Your Highness! And we don't want anything to do with these skirmishes!"

Cyril's eyes didn't stray from the upset man. In a surprisingly serene tone, while watching the man with warning eyes, he said, before Kreuz got the chance:

"Do be so kind as to sit down."

The spokesperson flinched at the cold calmness of the prince's voice, and sat down while muttering something to his comrades.

"Now, what was it you said?" Cyril asked him after a moment of silence. "You want to pull out of our alliance?"

"That is not our wish, Your Highness", the spokesperson said. "But bare in mind that Naril is also one of our allies. They will request our strength."

"I do not mean to degrade your... way of thinking, or your combat skills, however..." Cyril looked straight at them all. "Naril are pretty confident with themselves. They would not request arms from someone else, especially not one of our allies."

Kreuz knocked at the table to get their attention.

"If they would request your help, though, would you answer it?"

"Why of course!" one of the other men uttered. "What other choice would we have? We don't want the war to come to us after this is over!"

"Yet you would willingly throw yourselves into it", said Cyril.

"Hah! Maybe you would not understand, Your Highness, but with all due respect, for you all is well, what with being the most powerful clan there is. We are hardly even heard of."

Cyril raished his head, his eyes slightly looking down on them.

"What is your purpose, then?"

"Merileus proposes a ceasefire between Deliris and Naril. Succumb to Naril's will, and there will be no wars, yes?"

His hands smashing down the table, Cyril rised.

"Blast you for a fool!! Are you telling me to sacrifice the lives of so many innocent civilians because Naril is agitated? Because the nobles want their profits?"

"You are a noble thyself, Your Highness, the noblest of all of Ahleris. Surely you must understand--"

"Then what is 'noble'?" What is the meaning of being noble?! To cowardly give your lands to someone even weaker than you, because they might get angry? This is a war between leaders! The people has got nothing to do with it!"

The spokesperson of Merileus rised, his anger showed on full display.

"You can try saying that again when war comes knocking on their doors!!"

"Naril will not lay siege to their peace!"

"They will, no matter what path you may choose in this!"

"Fools!! Are you siding with Naril to protect your money!?"

"We are of the senate! We will not have you demand our taxes any longer!"

Cyril laughed. A sad laughter full of rage.

"Taxes...? _Taxes_? Haha... I... I cannot be hearing this! You go to war because a small digit amount is being dragged out of your pockets? Naril would charge more than that!"

"Not if we fight well!"

"Insanity!!"

"We will see who is when this is over. Merileus draws back its alliance with clan Deliris. ... See you at war."

And so, the three cinnober dragons left. Cyril sank to the chair in complete silence. What was the meaning of being noble? To have a noble heart, or a noble birth? There were too many definitions of the word itself.

Kreuz, who had been observing the whole word fight with bitterness, layed his hands on Cyril's shoulder.

"Merileus have always been easy to frighten, Sire."

Cyril agreed. That was true.

"But there has been no proposals, and no answers yet", Kreuz added. "Rest easy... This whole business will blow over."

The prince didn't reply. He rised, patted his friend on the shoulder, and exited the room. He went straight towards the palace garden. Though he was so lost in thought, he didn't notice the person just walking around the corner. As he heard footsteps close to him, he looked up, just when they were about to collide.

The person tripped at the close encounter and fell, Cyril having to catch her - resulting in both of them falling down to the floor.

Cyril blinked. He noticed how his heart skipped a beat when he saw the one lying over him.

"V... Miss Viera..."

The lady whose name was Viera stared right at his face and blushed madly.

"I... I'm so sorry! I'm... uh..." She looked around just in case someone had seen them.

"No, I'm sorry... Let me..." Cyril tried to help her up, but he didn't really know what to do since he didn't want to scare her by touching her.

Viera put her hand on his chest, therefore pushing herself up. Cyril noticed his hand was placed on her other hand, and his face turned bright red. He immediately sat up in his own surprise, their faces being quite close. He was smitten, and for quite a long time too.

"We seem to stumble into each other quite frequently, don't we..."

Viera laughed a little, trying to hide her previous nervousness.

"Mm... Yeah..."

They both watched each other for a while, when Cyril finally realized what he should be doing, and stood up. He offered Viera his hand. She took it after a moment of hesitation, and got helped up.

"Were you in, ah... ... in a hurry?" Cyril asked her.

Viera shrugged, while avoiding eye contact.

"Not really..." She smiled.

Cyril fiddled a little with his collar while thinking up something to say.

"If you don't mind, would you perhaps... want to join me to the garden?"

Viera blinked, and smiled again.

"A... Alright."

_Finally. I won't have to think too much as long as she's with me. I'll actually look forward to talking with her._

But the sweet mercy that had been given him didn't last for long. Kreuz came running through the corridors. He more or less dragged Cyril to his side and short-windedly whispered:

"It's Naril. The messenger just came in, Sire. They've declared war."

**End of chapter one, Embracing and gazing.**

**--**

Please be constructive in your reviews.

To see some art of the characters, give me a shout.


	3. Ordeals and Endeavour

**A Skies of Ahleris fiction**

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

**TWO – Ordeals and Endeavour**

_Sacrifice._

_How much can a person be willing to sacrifice, when all is at stake? Those who call themselves your friends, in the end, where do they stand? Would they be willing to sacrifice the most important of all, their own dragon lives, to protect you? I feel ashamed. I've been so blinded with protecting others, I haven't noticed that there are people wanting to protect me as well._

"Sire… We need to know where everyone stands."

"I know."

"Especially the Crystal clan. Were they to stand against us, we would be caught in between them and Merileus."

"I know."

"Besides, if they would wish to stand on their own, they would still be affected."

"I know."

"After all, they've been our companions for so long, we should at least…"

"I know! For Goddess Deliris' sake, I _know_! Please, Kreuz!"

Kreuz looked up from his notes. His eyes rested on prince Cyril, surprise residing in them, and then concern. His Majesty had been rather frustrated lately. He had not himself to blame, though, it's not like he must have wanted everything to come to this. Kreuz sighed. He wondered what it must've felt like when it truly became apparent that the world rested heavily on Cyril's shoulders.

Cyril sat down on the table with a sigh. He rubbed the space between his eyes with his fingers.

"… I'm sorry", he mumbled.

His old friend didn't mind, though. It wasn't the first time Kreuz had seen him like this, but he already knew the prince didn't mean to sound so irritated.

"Not to worry, Sire."

Reviewing what had happened, Cyril raised his head to watch the ceiling above. He remembered how a claw-bearing hand of cold fear had grabbed hold of his heart as he heard those words: "_Naril has declared war._" Cyril remembered apologizing to Viera for the inconvenience, hoping that she hadn't overheard them, and then following Kreuz back to the conference room where the messenger had been waiting. He remembered asking for a reason, the messenger telling him he was but a simple deliverer of messages, of course he wouldn't know the reason why the clan leader had declared war.

"A huge problem is, we don't know their numbers for sure. I've done some research, as well as paying visits to some of the larger tunnels of Naril, but no one but themselves know all the routes."

_And Aniki._

"Besides, Naril's tunnels reach every corner of Ahleris. They could be much larger than our numbers, as far as we know."

Kreuz had to agree. Regrettably, they had been put in quite a biting spot.

"Shall I invite Irania of the Crystal clan to the palace, Sire?"

"By all means…"

They both watched each other, their eyes craving more sleep and less stressful hours. After bowing deeply, Kreuz left the room. Cyril watched his back as he left, grateful for having so many trusted friends who would understand and stand beside him. … But were they enough? He needed many allies in this.

So much pressure. It was up to him if there would be a war or not, after all. It was tempting, so tempting to decline, but what would Naril do? With all those tunnels, it would be easy for them to erase all of Deliris using secret routes and striking at night. Losing had a bitter taste to it, but victory would be all the more bittersweet. People would die, after all. And no man had the right to take away a life.

In that case, I will kill. I will kill as much as possible in this filthy war, so that the remorse and guilt of others will not have to hang heavy on them. I will be their accomplice… in this murderous act.

Cyril rised, his eyes shining with determination.

"Deliris… will accept the proposal", he mumbled to himself.

--

It became official. Although none of the soldiers had seen war after king Solaris' time they were willing to put their lives at stake. Swiftly and effectively, they were trained in the arts of war. Bitter as their hearts felt, excitement filled their blood. They would come home as heroes! They would impress the women!

Handkerchiefs were exchanged, promises were made, confessions were uttered.

All this, Cyril watched from afar with indifference, laughing while tears streamed from his eyes and down to the floor. So strong. They were so strong. A storm was brewing and they were smiling happily, laughing alongside each other with overflowing confidence.

_Please! Please, don't take this away from them!_

It was beautiful. It was repulsive. It was wonderful. It was horrible. Hot, yet cold. Violent, yet peaceful. Cruel, yet gentle.

A hand appeared and was placed on Cyril's shoulder. He flinched and swiftly removed the streaming tears with his left hand. He turned around, Viera being the one standing behind him. Cyril put on a smile.

"Hello, miss."

Viera pulled back her hand. She looked a little concerned, but maybe it had just been her imagination. She had heard the prince laughing faintly to himself, but it hadn't been a happy laughter at all. Also, his eyes seemed slightly different.

"Hello, um… Your Highness…"

"Yes?"

His smile was real, that much she could tell. But something was unmistakably wrong.

"I was just wondering… Is everything all right?"

Cyril gave her a warm smile, and took her hand to lead her out.

"… This is not a place for ladies, miss. You should leave the soldiers' training to themselves."

"But I…!"

Cyril blinked.

"… Yes?"

Viera bit her lip, her eyes resting on the floor to hide her flustered expression. She was unsure of why she had this in mind, but…

"I… want to fight, too…" she mumbled, Cyril being the only one able to hear it.

In hearing this, Cyril was struck by not only surprise, but with mixed feelings of pride and sadness.

"What are you talking about? Miss Viera, the battlefield is no-"

"I want to fight too!" Viera exclaimed while looking up.

Cyril frowned. Her determination was admirable, but he found it impossible to expose her to such danger. Had she even learned any fighting skills?

"That's out of the question."

"Please! Let me…"

"Foolish."

"… What?"

"It's an order, miss Viera, you can't refuse."

And with that said, Cyril left her to watch the soldiers in their combat training. He ignored the guilt he felt inside and kept walking. The storm wasn't brewing. The storm had already come. Soon, it would get worse. Soon, people would die. Soon, he would kill, and his comrades along with him.

The civilians and the women of the palace would be taken to a faraway place at the Night clan, consisting of amber dragons, where they would be entirely safe from the hungry fangs of war. The Crystal clan had also agreed to support them, along with three of the other clans Deliris had an alliance with. Only Merileus sided with Naril, while some remained indifferent in their own little corner.

Maybe some would consider it cruel of Cyril to force Viera into going to the Night clan. But some things could not be helped. If one is to commit murder, one must not let feelings get in one's way, or one's resolve will break – along with one's life.

Cyril made his way to the cliffs outside of the palace, watching the landscapes underneath with melancholy, his coat tails blowing from side to side in the wind.

Tomorrow, we fight.

**End of chapter two, Ordeals and Endeavour.**

--

Please be constructive in your reviews.

To see some art of the characters, give me a shout.


	4. Embarking and Chanting

A Skies of Ahleris fiction

**A Skies of Ahleris fiction**

Roots of our Lives

--

**THREE - Embarking and Chanting**

_When you venture too far into something, are you ever afraid of the fact that you might not be able to turn back? When something frightens you, how do you show it? How do you express this fear?_

I don't. That is why these men, these honourable, brave souls, are looking at me with hope, respect and courage. If all they need in order to numb what little fear they are feeling is me, then I will gladly fight alongside them.

To war.

"Sire... Any last words for them?"

Cyril looked up as Kreuz' whisper reached him. He shut his eyes, grabbing what inner peace he felt somewhere as hard as he could, and then watched the combat-ready lines of soldiers awaiting his simple command.

"I do have words for them, Kreuz, but they are not my last", said Cyril, smiling proudly but sadly.

Kreuz smiled as well.

"Of course not, Sire..."

Cyril's eyes rested on the many lines. They would meet up with the Crystal clan's forces along the way, but their numbers were still highly admirable. Cyril slightly raised his right hand, and silence followed among the men.

"... You would expect me to say something encouraging, something that will provide you all with a will to fight and lift your spirits." Cyril smiled. "But what is there to say? I look upon you... and I see courage, wit and power emanating from all brave souls standing before me. What can I say for you, brethren, that you shouldn't already know?"

He paused, the eyes of his people watching him in some kind of awe. Somehow, he pitied them upon seeing their loving respect for him. Both of his hands raised high, Cyril continued:

"Good luck? Nay! Fight well? Nay! Why, you ask? Because we do not need luck, and we know that we are all skillful fighters already. All I must say for you is this. Survive. Survive and return, for we would not wish for our loved ones to weep for such heroes. Let us survive, together, as _heroes_."

Silence. Then, slowly but surely, one man after another, the troops raised their weapons in glorious yelling, chanting the name of their leader until their throats could take no more.

Cyril turned his face to the side.

"We are not heroes", he said quietly to himself. "But we are protecting what we love. And that's enough."

--

It is said that the moment before the giant clash itself is the one most excruciating. And maybe some nerves had their fill of silence and dust already - but Cyril, taking the front lines without any defensives except for a slim sword, was completely calm. He had given in to serenity and coldness, though fully comprehending the situation. He would kill. And that was that.

Nothing yet, as the prince knew there wouldn't be. He smiled to himself.

"... You were always one to be late."

An hour of coughing, sweating and trembling followed, before a look-out from the Crystal clan waved her arms back and forth and yelled.

"Naril! Naril! NARIL!!"

_Quickly_.

"Front lines, to wing!! Someone carry me - god speed!" Cyril yelled.

The fighting had begun. The hours that followed were filled with noises - screaming, weapons clashing, magic being released, dragons transforming, arrows being fired. Confusion, fear and _blood_ filled the battlefield. Each second, a person died, never to rise again.

Cyril's eyes were focused not only on his one target in front of him, but his concentration also rested on both enemies and allies around him. _God speed_. In hearing this word and seeing Cyril fight, his men would understand his lack of armour. Leaping into the air, we would deliver a precise blow with the sword as well as both of his legs. Speed would always fight alongside him - were it not for something able to compete with his.

After two hours or so, arrows were surprisingly released towards the front lines - at this moment not residing in their dragon forms - and had not the Crystal clan's magic at that very moment protected him, Cyril would have found an arrow buried in his shoulder.

Another arrow was fired at him, and his sword cleaved it with great precision, his focus being lost for long enough. A broadsword cut deeply into his waist - luckily the sword's bearer was wounded and therefore not strong enough.

The cut being quite serious (since the prince himself was forced down on his knees), Cyril had no choice but to swiftly fall back. At that moment, his eyes discovered something suspicious at a cliff not too far away. Fear immediately grabbed hold of his heart.

"All troops, fall back! Summoners sighted at the southernmost cliffs!! Fall back!!"

--

_Pain._

It comes in many forms, though always mocking you. Some would consider pain a warning. Some would consider it a curse.

... Some would simply consider it painful.

I consider all pain... endurable. But painful all the same.

"Lay still, Sire, or I can't heal you properly!"

Cyril opened his eyes, watching Kreuz as he stressfully but effectively healed the deep wound the prince had received during the battle.

"I say... You're too reckless!"

Cyril smiled. He knew Kreuz was just worried.

"We need a different strategy, Kreuz."

"I heard you encountered something nasty, Sire?"

A bitter taste welcomed itself into Cyril's mouth, and it was not the pain relieving herbs.

"Summoners. They were waiting for us to push the armies back so that they could ambush us from behind."

Kreuz' fingers almost slipped.

"Summoners!? Ah, but... Isn't... summoning illegal?"

"Well, so is killing, and look what we're all doing", Cyril replied.

They both sighed. Then silence followed, only the voices of stressful healers outside the tent being heard, along with the soft sound of Kreuz' white magic.

"Sire... I'm... not very glad in having to report this, but..."

"What? More bad news?"

Kreuz lowered his head a little.

"I received a full report from the Night clan, Sire... It... appears that miss Viera is not with them. She is missing."

Cyril sat up, ignoring the blood gushing out from his waist.

"What!?"

_Fear._

When it truly grabs hold of you, all resolve is shattered. When faced with true fear during circumstances like these,

it completely kills you.

**End of chapter three - Embarking and Chanting.**

Ahem Don't get me wrong now, it must've seemed pretty rushed. But they were actually fighting for hours before Cyril sighted those summoners. Believe me, I've never written anything war-related before, so this is entirely new to me.

Bare with me this far! x3


	5. Straying and Praying

A Skies of Ahleris fiction

**A Skies of Ahleris fiction**

--

**FOUR - Straying and Praying**

_There are moments in one's life when someone utterly depends on you. Their lives are willingly cast aside for the sake of pleasing you._

I heard something intriguing today. Use us, they said. Use us if we may please you, Your Majesty. Which means that whatever plan I may come up with in order to take on both the army and the summoners, as always my orders will be followed and surely fulfilled.

These are the times when I question my position. I must be good enough to come up with a decent - no, fool proof - plan without having to sacrifice too many lives. I bet my father wouldn't so much as hesitate...

"Something troubling you, _Your Highness_?"

A beautiful voice, yet an utterly mocking tone. There was only one person fitting into that category at this moment. Cyril turned around upon hearing this voice at all haste, having to gasp for air the moment his waist had to help him in his movements.

"Aniki..."

The black clad man whom Cyril called "Aniki", meaning "elder brother", watched him with eyes as toxic as they were cold, greener than chemical waste, deeper than the Underworld. They held much resemblance, Cyril and his brother, though only through the elegant shape of their faces and eyes, and one more thing - no one would ever be able to tell what either of them were thinking.

"Good to see you in such a good shape, Cyril."

Aniki nearly spat the name out, definitely not hiding his contempt towards his younger brother (though appearing younger himself). He had noticed the deep cut in Cyril's waist, and it seemed to bring him much satisfaction.

"Spare me all the mockery. Why are you here?" Cyril had no time to play the fool in front of Aniki. He had much to think about - too much.

Aniki laughed.

"I know where she is."

"Of course you do", Cyril said, quickly biting off his brother's establishment. Of course he knew. Everyone knew that this person held all the knowledge in Ahleris in the palm of his hand - whether he wanted it or not...

"No need for such rudeness", Aniki calmly replied. He seemed to be in good spirits today.

_Either it's the war, or it's my misery that is pleasing him._

"I see the circumstances bring you much pleasure. I suppose you don't feel like telling me where she could be?"

Aniki raised one hand and placed it on Cyril's chest, before shoving him into the cliff wall with brutal force. The pain shocked Cyril as he noticed the wound was opening, and he had almost bit his tongue when he hit the wall. Very carefully he placed his hand on the bandages, and slightly groaned from the paint he felt. That's right. He shouldn't have asked a question like that - not when he was entirely in Aniki's hands like this.

Aniki smiled.

"Stop thinking about her. You won't be able to fight."

Cyril felt his blood starting to rush. He was in the foulest of moods, and he didn't need his outcast brother to make it worse.

"Keep out of this. If I don't know whether she'll be alright or not, I won't be able to fight anyway."

"Foolish."

One of Cyril's fists hit the cliff wall, resulting in several cracks appearing on its rocky surface.

"Then what about you? Aren't you in the least worried about Taricha, who _fights_ in this war?"

Aniki was just about to turn around and walk away, when he heard Cyril utter her name. Taricha... How warm he felt in the coldness of his heart whenever he heard that name.

"So this is your last resort?" he asked, smiling slightly. "I love her. I know she'll be fine."

"You don't love her", Cyril spat out. "You're obsessed with her!"

He immediately turned silent. Why did he have to go and say something awful like that? He glanced at Aniki, whose eyes narrowed, the burning hatred towards Cyril shown on full display.

"... Weakling", Aniki said in a low, slithering tone. How he despised that man, for dirtying her name.

Cyril sighed as he watched his brother leave the camp. He definitely didn't mean to say something like that, but the rage had gotten a hold of him again.

_There goes my chance of finding out where Viera is... Ahh...! I need to come up with a plan, fast...!_

Cyril shook his head, replacing his desperation with determination. Without showing any signs of being in pain, he went back to his tent and got fully geared. He stopped for a while to watch the shadow of himself on the tent. He frowned. _Weakling_. The word Aniki had said to him rang loudly in his mind. Cyril turned to the other side, only to find a mid-sized mirror on the table. He leaned towards it and watched himself in the glass. Then something struck him, and he lowered his head while pressing his fists so hard into the mirror, blood started coming out on the newly-made cracks of glass.

_It appears that no matter how much I run, I still cannot run from myself._

Cyril kept his head lowered, as if begging for someone's forgiveness, while the blood kept running out from his clenched fists and down on the broken mirror.

"I... don't want to see..."

--

"Dear Goddess, Cyril, what's been eating you?"

Taricha had decided to go check up on Cyril, and she had found him in the same state he had been in for a while - his hands drenched in blood, his whole body achingly tense, his head lowered towards his chest. He looked miserable, but in one swift moment, his mask had been put back on.

Cyril raised both of his hands to show Taricha.

"Glass", he replied with an innocent look on his face.

Taricha sighed and scratched the back of her head. A lot of things had been "eating him", but that was to be expected.

"You just got hurt, and now you're getting more cuts?"

Cyril put on an even more innocent and saddened expression.

"Well, I'm sorry!"

Taricha smiled at his attempt to make her laugh. He really looked pathetic when he made that kind of face.

"I'll get that glass out for you."

"Thank you."

They both kept completely silent while Taricha took care of the cuts. Cyril was watching and invisible spot on the ground, probably going through a lot of things in his peculiar thoughts, while Taricha concentrated on his hands, glancing at him from time to time.

"There", she said after a while when she had wrapped Cyril's hands in bandages and covered them with his blue gloves again. "... You know, you should leave the strategy problems to the tacticians."

Cyril heard what she said, but he was still watching the same spot with an indifferent expression on his face.

"I have. They came up with a variety of solutions, but I didn't approve of any of them."

"Cyril!" Taricha moaned in disappointment.

"They were all too risky. With plans like those, we wouldn't have enough units for the army itself." Cyril sounded completely calm while speaking. It seemed like he had come to a conclusion of sorts.

"But we have to to _something_. We don't have time!"

Cyril finally turned to face her. Taricha flinched. There was that look again - the gentle smile, the saddened eyes. He felt guilty over something! It was clear as day for her, as she had known him for years. Maybe that was why he didn't look at her until now, in order to hide it.

"I already have a plan", said Cyril.

Taricha blinked in disbelief.

"Well, that's great! Want to fill me in on it?"

Cyril stood up. He took a few steps towards the entrance of the tent, calmly watching his men collecting their shattered resolve by the fire. He smiled to himself, proud to be the leader of them all.

"... You know what Naril's leader expects?"

"No?"

"He thinks I will dispatch at least a third part of my army in order to take care of the summoner nuisance."

"Yes, but that's because it's common sense, right?" said Taricha, quite confused as to what the plan was.

"... I've been known for being reckless and impulsive at times", Cyril responded to her confusion. "On thing he also expects is for me to stray from this next battle. After all, I was heavily injured."

"You _are_ heavily injured", Taricha corrected him.

Cyril pretended as if she hadn't uttered a word.

"That is why he won't suspect a thing when I'm not present in the next clash. Also, I will pick out at least 100 soldiers to lie in waiting while the others fight."

Taricha didn't understand what the point was in doing so.

"Of course you won't be present", she said. "You're wounded."

Cyril turned around, watching her with the guilt emitting from his emerald eyes, though strong determination overpowering it with ease.

"I won't be present... Because I'll be at the southernmost cliffs fending off the summoners."

Taricha suddenly realized everything. Her eyes widened in surprise - and despair. She immediately thought that the risk of him dying during a mission like that would be painfully high.

"Cyril...!" she whispered, not sure what to say or how to stop him.

Cyril was on the way out of the tent, when he glanced back at her over his right shoulder, sending off a carefree smile.

"I've dabbled a little with summoning myself, back in the days. I'll be fine."

"Cyril, don't...!"

But Cyril had already left. Taricha bit her lip, worried about the possible outcome of this madness. She always trusted him, but...

_If you're going to be fine, then why do you look so guilty...!?_

--

**End of Chapter 4 - Straying and Praying.**

--

AAAAHH, I'm in such a hurry, you can't even imagine! My fingers hurt, so sorry, can't write right now.


	6. Crying Dying

A Skies of Ahleris fiction

**Roots of our Lives**

--

**FIVE - Crying... Dying**

_Sometimes... it may feel as if your heart is about to burst. There are just so many feelings, be they happy or not, gathering and overflowing. In order to prevent everything from leaking out, I decided to do something I knew I would come to regret..._

Kreuz dropped the supplies he had been carrying. His purple eyes widened, fear residing in them when realization of Cyril's words came to light. He shook his head. It must have been some kind of joke. That must have been it. The prince was merely teasing him. ... Right?

"S... Sire, you... Surely you couldn't mean..." He tried to smile, but Cyril just sighed. It was hard for him as well.

"I'm sorry, Kreuz. I'm taking on the summoners. Not to worry, I'll leave someone reliable in charge."

Kreuz shook his head again. This was madness!

"That is not the problem!" he exclaimed, heads turning to look at him upon hearing a raised voice - an unmistakably upset voice. Kreuz glanced around and silenced.

Cyril watched him with remorse.

"I..."

Then he shut his eyes tightly before opening them again, collecting lost resolve.

"Kreuz. Please, I need you to tell them."

"You have many finely disciplined soldiers at your command, ja? Why not use them?"

Something dark came over Cyril's eyes.

"Now you're speaking words of a fool. You are the greatest magician there is. Surely you must know that soldiers with just physical training stand no chance against Naril's summoners."

Kreuz lowered his head, as if he had just gotten a lecture. He just wanted to stop Cyril. Anything... Anyone... But not him. He could not let Cyril take on such trained magicians - and definitely not by himself. But he knew very well that Cyril had given him an order. An order Kreuz had to fulfill no matter what. The prince trusted him. But Kreuz... Kreuz loved him. If Cyril wasn't there, he would be alone once more.

"Sire, I don't know if I..." Kreuz stuttered.

Cyril looked away with disappointment in his eyes.

"... Of all the people, I thought that at least you would understand", he said.

_I knew I shouldn't have spoken to him about this first._

"I'll announce it myself, then", said Cyril and walked past Kreuz.

Kreuz stared at the ground, completely overwhelmed.

"There he goes... to announce his own death", he whispered.

--

"And that is why", said Cyril to his troops, ready for combat once again. "I need you all to fight for each other... and for me. You all know of the plans - we will be able to trick the Naril masterminds with but the simplest of tricks." Cyril smiled. The remorse was gone, at least on the outside. "Make me proud."

The soldiers were chanting, yet again - proud to have such a brave leader. Little did they know the risks of this dangerous mission.

At Cyril's side stood Kreuz, pale as snow. He looked up as his honourable leader turned and walked away, the army being led in a different direction from him. There he went. Two meters. Four meters. ... Now eight meters. Soon, he would be gone from his sight. Kreuz started to tremble. His back. That was the last thing Kreuz would see of him. Over ten meters. No. Please, no, please don't! Don't go! _Don't die_!

Kreuz' legs failed him.

He fell on his knees, before screaming into the nothingness that was left of the camp.

"_SIRE, NO_!!"

--

It was quiet, aside from the wind that pulled Cyril's clothes and hair. Bitterness. It struck him as he climbed the cliffs with graceful ease - he had heard the painful scream, how Kreuz had called out to him.

_When this is all over... I'll make sure to apologize for hurting everyone._

Cyril smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, as usual.

_It doesn't matter if they forgive me or not._

He had gotten a much higher ground now. He could see the camp, many meters below him, and the army marching away from it. Suddenly it felt as if a knife struck his heart.

_Kreuz, Taricha... Oh, I'm so sorry..._

He shut his eyes for a moment. Inner peace, inner peace. As soon as he found his focus again, he opened his eyes with new strength, determination emitting from him. He hated to see the people he loved getting hurt, be it him or someone else causing the pain. Cyril looked up towards the dark sky.

_That is why I will return._

Something changed in Cyril's eyes as the words in his mind transformed into pure strength. Now, he was ready to kill.

He hid behind a rock, noticing the summoners not that far away. If they had been expecting, or at least given it some thought that someone might approach them, maybe they would've sent a familiar to check from the sky. But Cyril felt no such thing. To himself, he quietly recited the one summon he remembered from long ago. The familiar wasn't impressive, but effective enough.

"There", he said. "Let them notice my energy as I use the magic..."

_But they don't know that my familiar was already summoned at the foot of the mountain, and that it's now watching them from above._

"Come to me", Cyril whispered with his eyes calmly shut. He could hear them hesitating, but they walked towards the rock Cyril used as cover. "Come to me..."

His eyes opened wide as one of the summoners took a step close enough - now was the time to strike! He jumped out of his hiding place, to find at least seven summoners shocked to see a noble in such a place. Of course they knew the prince fought like a demon. But their confidence returned as they remembered - what they had the ability to call forth was far worse than any demon.

Cyril directed a high and powerful kick to the head of one of them, leaving himself entirely open. How easy, thought the summoners. One of them even pulled out a dagger in all haste. But the prince had other plans.

"It's a trap, you fool", he said.

Down from the peak soared a falcon, its talons ready to rip off skin, flesh and bones. Its beak hit the back of the attacking summoner's head, sending him crashing down on the rocky ground. The other six seemed slightly impressed, but they had been given enough time to summon their own creatures.

Cyril looked up as a massive Golem appeared in front of him along with a giant snake, two roaring tigers, an impressive-looking Centaur and a three-headed wolf with golden fur. The falcon landed on Cyril's arm, ready to strike at his command. Cyril didn't let the numbers or sizes affect him. Smiling, he said:

"This is going to be a long day, my friend..."

--

_Heaven forgive me..._

Cyril coughed, warm blood splashing out on the ground. Some direct hits from the Golem had not only re-opened his wound, but he was completely unable to move a muscle. Four summoners lay dead. Two were wounded, their familiars showing signs of disappearing at any time. But because of the Golem, the seventh summoner hadn't received a single scratch.

The Golem raised one hand made out of solid magma. It looked down at Cyril with its lone eye.

Five more seconds, maybe ten...? Then the raised hand would come crashing down.

With a slight grin, Cyril watched it as it came.

"Come", he said.

... smiling.

--

**End of chapter five - Crying... Dying**

--

Cliffhanger.

Constructive reviews are highly appreciated.


	7. Grinning, Winning?

A Skies of Ahleris fiction

**Roots of our Lives**

--

**SIX - Grinning - Winning?**

_I'm familiar with all kinds of pain. The first time I felt pain excruciating enough to make me almost want to die... was when I was five years old. Up until then, I've been waiting for that same pain, worsening as those things grow, always fearing how slowly they will proceed the next time they come out._

Now, the feeling of getting my insides crushed by a magma Golem?

... This is nothing.

Cyril was utterly defenseless. He had bravely pushed his body to limits it shouldn't have been able to reach. Blood was running out from his many wounds, creating a large puddle under and around him. In some swift seconds, no matter Cyril's divine lineage, he would die.

... had not the impossible occurred - which wasn't really impossible at all, the last remaining summoner being too confident to notice the small figure sneaking up from behind him. A swift blow was dealt to his neck, and the summoner - not even knowing what had struck him - fell to the ground. A trembling hand drove a sword through his body, so that he would never rise again.

There were no traces of the fearsome Golem after it had disappeared.

The admirable young warrior hurried to Cyril's side. In his desperation, he quickly grabbed a healing staff from one of the fallen summoners.

"I know some healing..." the warrior mumbled. It sounded like a very young man.

Admirable, Cyril thought. He wanted to feel frustrated over the fact that the soldier had gone against his orders, but he didn't possess the energy for it.

The young man, his helmet still not removed, had managed to close Cyril's wounds, but the prince had lost much blood and his bones and inner organs had been severely damaged. He needed help from a professional, quick.

Cyril managed to sit up. Steadily, he tried to catch his breath.

"... Thank you", he said with a try at smiling. "I'm in your debt."

"N... Not at all", the soldier replied, quickly lowering his voice as he spoke.

Cyril frowned. What was that insecurity in that boy's voice? ... Of course. _Of course_. He could recognize that voice anywhere. After all, to Cyril it was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

"Take of your helmet", he ordered.

The soldier flinched, unsure what to do. Cyril's eyes narrowed.

"It's an order."

After a moment of hesitation, the helmet was removed - and behind it was no man. Cyril quickly tried to calm his racing heart upon seeing that fair face. It was none other than Viera who had come to his rescue.

Cyril almost laughed. She had been missing. Of course.

_I'm so stupid. So stupid._

But he didn't know if he should laugh or cry. He felt relieved and happy that Viera was alright, but he had been so afraid. And this world of blood and slaughter... He didn't want her to be a part of it. He didn't want to touch her with such soiled hands, he didn't want her to see him in such a miserable state. But it was too late. They would both be soiled for all eternity.

Tears started building up in Cyril's eyes. She was unhurt. She was there, in front of him!

"Viera..." he whispered. "Oh, Viera...!"

_Today, I spit on this pain. I spit on my tears._

Ignoring the blood, Cyril dragged Viera into a tight embrace, his arms shaking tremendously from the effort of simply lifting them in order to hold her.

"Y... Your Majesty...?" Viera, never having been so close to anyone before, felt how her heart suddenly skipped a beat.

"Cyril."

"What...?"

"It's Cyril. Please... Call me by my name."

Viera was glad he wasn't able to see her flustered expression. But she still felt very confused, not to mention she was worried about him.

Cyril...

A name she hadn't uttered, but a name that had been resting on her lips for long, a name she kept in her mind always, since... she didn't know.

But the prince, embracing her at this very moment, had asked her to call him by his name. No, he _needed_ her to do so.

Viera smiled.

"Cyril..."

--

It was so quiet, had it not been for the wind, their footsteps would probably have sent echoes throughout the cliffs. Cyril, supporting himself on Viera's shoulder, thought so as the silence started to get to him. He couldn't bare it. He needed to hear her voice, or he wasn't sure he would be able to make it down from the mountain. And then he remembered.

"... Viera, stop for a moment. I need to tell you something."

Viera stopped. She glanced at him, wondering what it might be. Then suddenly, she was presented with more confusion. Cyril kissed her. She didn't know if he really meant it, if it was just a moment or if the pain and blood loss had made him delusional.

But he kissed her. And Viera didn't pull away.

As Cyril released it, he mumbled:

"I told you to stay protected in the Night clan. I told you to stay out of this."

Viera didn't know what to say. She didn't know anything right now. The prince had kissed her!

"I... I'm sorry... I, um...2

Cyril gently caressed her face, his gaze not straying from her yellow eyes.

"I understand. I would do the same. But please... Don't ever do this to me again, do you hear me?"

Viera quickly nodded, trying to hide the fact that she was blushing madly.

"Lovebirds. Over here."

Both of them flinched at the sound of a voice suddenly appearing behind them. They turned to see that it was none other than Cyril's older brother. It wasn't surprising he showed up. He always did when no one wanted him to.

"A... Aniki", Cyril stuttered, suddenly embarrassed that someone had seen them.

But Aniki didn't seem to care. He started walking in a different direction from the one they had originally chosen.

"This way", said Aniki, apparently intent on leading Cyril and Viera down.

Cyril felt the need to ask what he was sure his brother knew.

"How... is everything going?" he asked.

Aniki glanced at him over his shoulder, grinning widely.

"They're fighting formidably. But they're losing."

Again, Cyril was struck by fear.

"Who? Who are losing?"

Aniki laughed.

"... Naril are losing."

Then his gaze returned to the front again.

"That's why they're trying a different method... A dirty method I didn't think them capable of."

"What do you mean?"

Aniki smiled slightly.

"They've found the whereabouts of your healers. ... And they've started killing them one by one."

Cyril's eyes opened wide, rage and fear residing in them. Those dirty scoundrels!!

"No...!!"

_It can't be..._

Kreuz!!

--

**End of chapter 6 - Grinning - Winning?**

--

Fingers... ow... ... Alright, now I don't care if it's short or rushed.

Constructive reviews are as always highly appreciated if anyone reads this.


	8. Our Beloved Secrecy

A Skies of Ahleris fiction

**A Skies of Ahleris fiction**

--

**SEVEN - Our Beloved Secrecy**

--

_Crimson red._

My rage paints the view in front of my eyes in that same colour. The dreaded colour of blood.

Those who lay a hand on the inhabitants of my heart, will know no mercy from me.

"Cyril, hold!"

Aniki held out his left arm in front of Cyril to make him stop. His gaze turned to the area slightly above the place where the healers resided - a blue light emitted from there, turning darker and more sinister the higher it rose. Aniki frowned. A sudden release of power, it seemed.

Cyril gasped for air. Desperately, he tried to keep himself conscious while supporting himself on Viera, whose expression showed how worried she was.

"What is it?" she asked Aniki.

Aniki felt a wave of energy flowing past them and raised one hand to his face, covering his eyes from the sand and dust. Upon lowering it, the blueish aura was gone.

"... We need to hurry", he replied, quietly.

But it seemed like Cyril could take no more. His strength ran out of him completely, and his legs failed him.

Aniki turned and watched him, his expression impossible to analyze.

"..."

Viera tried her best to help Cyril getting back up, but not even her efforts could move him. Cyril removed his hand from the wound in his waist for just a moment, and blood came gushing out.

Aniki's eyes widened slightly.

"Cy...!"

He hurried to his brother's side.

"Cyril!"

The pain didn't allow Cyril to hear anything - he felt like he would disappear at any second. Like he would... die.

Viera called his name, trying to make him keep his eyes open, trying to get his attention, anything to make him keep fighting. She was truly afraid. Afraid to lose the one man she loved.

Aniki quickly placed his hands on Cyril's wounds after a moment of hesitation. Viera could see the excruciating pain being expressed in Cyril's eyes and pushed his brother's arm.

"What are you doing!? Can't you see he's suffering?!"

Aniki kicked her down to the ground.

"Don't touch me!!" he exclaimed, his toxic eyes burning with anger and disgust. "_Never_ touch me! Cunning witch!!"

Viera started to get really ticked off by that person. How could he be so arrogant at a time like this?

"Wha... What did you say...?!"

"I'm healing him, so stay back."

Now that was a huge surprise for Viera as she heard those words. As far as she knew, Aniki hated and despised Cyril more than anyone could understand. So why would he heal his hated younger brother, whom he had been wanting dead for so long?

Aniki seemed to have anticipated such thoughts, and with his hands resting on Cyril's wounds, he grinned.

"A petty Golem is no match for my fated opponent. I'll personally see to it."

Viera let out a relieved sigh. Aniki was skilled. Then that would mean Cyril would survive.

Suddenly, a dark aura started to glow around Aniki's hands, and slowly but surely, the worst of Cyril's wounds started to heal. But complete healing without any form of sacrifice was impossible. This particular technique was called "draining", and it meant closing fatal wounds and transferring the pain into the drainer's channeling hands.

Aniki's hands had started to tremble considerably. He bit his teeth together and closed his eyes tightly. Completely concentrated but also in pain. After some minutes of torture, he could take no more, and removed his hands, falling down to the side.

Cyril came to pretty quickly for being so utterly crushed just recently. When he noticed Aniki trembling on the ground, he was struck with worry.

"W... What happened?"

Viera hugged Cyril's arm tightly.

"He... He healed your wounds."

"Aniki did?"

He watched his brother writhing in pain and was completely lost for words. Aniki glanced towards him with a superior grin.

"What are you still doing here? Should you not rush to the aid of your friends?"

"But you..."

Aniki laughed.

"But I what? Don't tell me I have to remind you of my little curse."

Cyril watched him silently for a moment. He had no sufficient way of expressing his gratitude, according to himself, but he was truly thankful. And so was Viera.

"I'm sorry... For pushing you", she said quietly.

Aniki couldn't help but to laugh.

"Silly girl", he mumbled.

"Aniki", Cyril said. "... Thank you."

He smiled slightly before taking Viera's hand and going down the mountaneous path with haste. He regretted having to leave his brother there, especially since he had been so cruel towards him earlier. But if they didn't hurry...

--

"A signal, huh?"

The black clad soldier had raised his head to watch the colourful, cloudy aura dissolve into the sky. He then turned back to yet again see the disaster he and his team had brought upon the camp. His gaze wandered, until it stayed on the appearance of a blond man with bandages on his bare arms.

"You're quite the skilled magician, aren't you?" the grinning soldier said to him. "And you pack quite a punch, too. What's your name?"

"Kreuz."

The Naril soldier raised his eyebrows in surprise, impressed in many ways.

"Any chance you're from... that place?" he silently asked, his grin widening.

Kreuz pointed his sword towards the arrogant soldier.

"Hold your tongue before it gets cut off, vermin."

But the confident soldier did not feel threatened. He felt convinced. This "Kreuz" was undoubtedly...

"Under those bandages", he said, "you have the marking, correct?"

Kreuz chose not to reply. He kept his sword raised and his eyes focused.

"And a seal, right? On the other side. That's why you're a tad weaker than you should be."

"What's your point!?" Kreuz exclaimed.

"Oh, nothing, nothing... But let me ask you this. Where did you get that katana?"

The soldier didn't live to hear an answer to his mocking question. His head slowly rolled away from his body. Further and further... until a pair of feet made it stop - those feet belonging to none other than Viera.

Kreuz' eyes widened in surprise and some kind of fear as he saw them from where he stood amongst the many corpses and pools of blood that had newly been added to the scene. He saw Cyril, covered in blood. And Cyril saw him - even more stained than himself.

"Si... Sire..." Kreuz whispered. His sword fell to the ground with a loud sound.

Cyril watched the scene with some kind of melancholic oblivion. This could not be happening. All the healers, all the wounded, they had all been murdered. All, except for Kreuz...

... who was apparently from the Hunter's Organization.

And a liar.

--

**SEVEN - Our Beloved Secrecy - END**


End file.
